"We are not born that we should thus be insulted," said Nanna.

"True, true; but then we should have been born as deformed and ugly as those sins, which even our modesty will not preserve us from being suspected of."

"Can that be possible!" thought Nanna. Magde, who as she spoke had pa.s.sed her hand upon her forehead, now removed it, and from the expression of her dark eyes, which beamed with her accustomed cheerfulness, and from her proud and lofty bearing, it could be perceived that she had regained her usual self-possession.

"I grieve you, dear Nanna," said she in a softened tone of voice, "I do not imagine you to be more than a dove which is still fostered within the dovecote. But I was troubled, as I am sometimes, without really knowing the cause."

"Is there no cause, then?" inquired Nanna.

"I can say that there is or is not a cause, and therefore shall remain silent."

"Then remain silent, dear Magde, let us speak no further on the subject," said Nanna quickly, for she was burning with impatience to visit the spring.

She longed to discover by experience whether it was really so dangerous for a woman to walk out alone.

Until the day before, it had not been dangerous, for no one had forbidden her the free enjoyment of G.o.d's beautiful earth, and neither had her modesty ever been insulted. On any other occasion, Nanna would have been influenced not only by curiosity, but by a far purer feeling, namely, sympathy for Magde's sorrows,--for she dearly loved her sister-in-law,--and would have asked an explanation of matters which she at present was anxious to avoid.

Magde was silent.

Nanna stepped over the door sill.

But stern fate compelled her to turn back a second time, for the moment that Magde turned to pa.s.s into the house, old Mr. Lonner advanced to the door.

"Nanna my child," said he, "bring my chair out into the door-yard. The evening air is so cool and pleasant that it will invigorate my old body; but it would be better I think, if my rheumatism will permit it, to take a little stroll in the fields, with the aid of my walking cane on one side, and with you as a staff to support me on the other."

Nanna blushed so deeply that she felt the blood burning her cheeks, as she advanced the opinion that the exercise might prove injurious to him.

"Poor child, you are grieved on account of your old father. I will take your advice. Bring my arm-chair out, and we will sit here and have a little chat together."

Hitherto, when her father had chatted to her of all that he had seen and experienced, Nanna had considered herself amply rewarded for her days of labor, but on this occasion, she not only went after the chair reluctantly, but also, when she as usual seated herself with her knitting work on her little bench at his side she sighed deeply. Her father did not observe her dejection, perhaps he considered it an impossibility for his precious jewel to sigh when she was with him.

"Well, Nanna," said he stroking his long beard which gave a venerable appearance to his benevolent features, "are you thinking of the fine shawl that Ragnar is to send you by his friend Jon Jonson?"

"Not at all, dear father," replied Nanna.

"True," continued the old man, "your disposition in that respect does not resemble Magde's. She is pleased, as every young woman should be, when she has an opportunity of decorating her person with elegant clothing."

"I think, that hereafter," said Nanna, slightly confused, "I shall also cultivate a taste for such things; but thus far I have had but little opportunity."

"I hope so," replied her father, "I have frequently been much troubled in mind, when I have observed your indifference to dress, so unnatural to one of your age; but which is only a result of the romantic notions that you have always indulged in."

"But dear father, is it not wrong to strive to make ourselves beautiful when we are only poor people?"

"Beautiful!" exclaimed the old man, "what put that into your little head?"

"Magde told me that all poor women ought to be born ugly, that their reputation might not be suspected."

"Magde was a little out of humor, when she said that, and she who wishes to please her husband so much, could not have really intended what she said."

"Yes, but when a woman is married, it alters the case entirely."

"But why should not an unmarried girl wish herself handsome for the sake of her father, her brother, and above all for her own sake? That is a good wish so long as it continues innocent."

"When then, is it not innocent?" inquired Nanna.

"It is no longer innocent when the love of fine apparel, and the desire to be beautiful, changes the heart, and the girl neglects her duties, and gives her sole attention to that which should only serve as a simple recreation; but that I am sure will never be the case with you."

Nanna was silent. She drooped her head. "There is no danger of that,"

thought she, "for who will care to witness the change?"

"On next St. John's day," continued her father, "you must wear that elegant silk shawl which belonged to your poor mother."

As Nanna heard these words, a smile of peculiar meaning pa.s.sed over her lips. It was the smile of a woman who antic.i.p.ates a future triumph.

"Thank G.o.d," said the old man, turning the conversation in another channel, "for all the blessings he has bestowed upon us. Although we may now be in trouble, when Ragnar's packages arrive, we shall be in better circ.u.mstances. Poverty has many blessings of which the rich man cannot even dream. The poor man's grat.i.tude and joy for even the slightest piece of fortune is too great to describe. The rich man has not that relish for the good things of life that the poor man has."

While honest Lonner was thus losing himself in his meditations, Nanna moved in her seat uneasily, and dropped st.i.tch after st.i.tch of her knitting-work. The former topic of conversation was endurable, but this--

Meanwhile, however, she did not dare to express her desire to be liberated from her irksome position. Why was she afraid to do so? She asked herself the question; the only reply she could make was, that yesterday it would have been easy for her to say, "Father, I want to take a little walk in the meadow;" but to-day, oh! that was different!

"I see you have your bonnet on!" said her father, "were you about taking a walk?"

"I have not been out of the house before, to-day," replied Nanna.

"Well, then run away, my child; take all the enjoyment you can. You have but little here."

Perhaps it was by expressions of this description from her father, that mournful thoughts were engendered within the mind of the young girl, causing her to fancy that something was wanting to complete her happiness, and that she stood beyond the pale of those who should have been her companions.

It is certainly plausible to suppose that these moments which the old man had set apart for familiar conversation with his daughter, whom he loved above all earthly things, for she reminded him of past days, might have proved highly detrimental to Nanna's sensitive and susceptible mind.

As matters now stood, it was plainly evident that, however economical, industrious and thrifty she might be, Nanna would be compelled to be content with her lot, should she wed an honest mechanic or a sloop captain, which were the highest prizes which she, or any of the neighboring maidens, might expect to win.

Like a captive bird which, after many fruitless struggles, finally regains its liberty, Nanna quickly made use of her restored freedom, and hastened from the door-yard. She was fully convinced that the young man was no longer in the meadow, and now she suddenly remembered that she had said nothing to her father or Magde about the stranger whom she had encountered the previous evening. How strange it was that she had forgotten to tell them! Yes, it was the strangest thing that ever had occurred during her whole life, and how greatly astonished they would be when she should tell them of her little adventure! Thus thought Nanna, as she proceeded towards the meadow.

CHAPTER VI

THE AGREEMENT.

"It was just as I thought!" exclaimed our heroine, as she looked, with pouting lips at the reflection of her pretty figure in the clear waters of the spring. Never before had her hair been so nicely arranged, and her neat white ap.r.o.n, which she had kept concealed beneath her cloak during her entire conversation with Magde and her father, and which she had carefully tied about her waist as soon as she had entered the meadows, how pretty it looked! But how was she repaid for all her trouble? She was about disenc.u.mbering herself both of her ap.r.o.n and a little scarf which she had thrown over her shoulders, when she heard a voice that she had already learned to distinguish, calling to her in the distance.

With pleased astonishment she lifted her eyes, and saw an individual whom we need scarcely inform our readers was the owner of the knapsack.

He was descending a hill, holding to his lips a blade of gra.s.s, upon which he would occasionally blow a vigorous and ear-piercing blast.

"Have you come at last, my naiad queen?" said the youth. "We were such pleasant companions last evening, that I came hither in the hope of finding you at your bath again."